Heath Bars and the World to Come

When I was a young man, I would buy a Heath Bar and, after opening its crinkly package, would bite into the toffee covered in milk chocolate, closing my eyes as I enjoyed its exquisite crunchiness, and then savor each subsequent bite. This is how I imagined the Olympic gods' ambrosia to taste. Okay, ambrosia doesn't your clog arteries nor promote dental decay, but when you're young you don't think about such matters. At least I didn't.

When we moved to Jerusalem, where we lived for 36 years, I stopped buying Heath Bars, which were unavailable there, and when we returned to America two years ago, I was unable to find them. I assumed they were no longer being made, until a month ago, when, dining at the home of my daughter and her family, we were served Haagen Dazs "Everything but the Kitchen Sink" premium ice cream, which includes Heath Bar chunks. Heath Bars! The ambrosia of my youth!

I started looking for them everywhere, at drug stores, supermarkets, and subway newspaper kiosks, but nowhere could I find them. When I told my daughter of my fruitless search, she said, "but they're sold everywhere." Encouraged, I continued looking for them, but I still couldn't find them. So I figured that their packaging had probably changed. After all, until we went abroad, I had watched their price rise inexorably from its original five cents, the bar shrinking all the while. Maybe their package had changed too. I was probably looking at them without seeing them. I abandoned my search until I could devote more time to examining the complete array of bars on the market.

In an earlier blog post I quoted the Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, who said that in the World to Come, we will be asked to account for all the pleasures that we denied ourselves in this world. So when my daughter called me the other day to announce that she had bought me a Heath Bar, I felt compelled to follow rabbinic authority. On the other hand, dietary authorities might question the wisdom of eating Heath Bars, if I want to maintain my current weight and keep my cholesterol down. When I mentioned this conflict to my daughter, she said, "Dad, a Heath Bar won't kill you." Of course, she's right, but I know that my pleasure will be tinged with guilt.

A few years back, when a popular Israeli journalist learned that he had only six months to live, he threw a party for his friends. In his valedictory talk, he said that one of the advantages of his current situation was that he no longer had to floss his teeth. I don't expect to check out in six months, but even so, hasn't the time come, now that I've reached my eightieth year, to say to hell with all those killjoy rules and to eat what I want without feeling guilty? And if not now, when? After all, I don't suppose I'll find any Heath Bars in the World to Come.